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Wed 25 Jun, 2003 03:13 am
I am working on a writing exercise, and I thought I 'd share it along with my own submission. I would appreciate any feedback and will critique other submissions based on this exercise. Heck, I'll look at anything!
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From your own life, in 300 words or less, describe an experience that embodies the concept of: fear. Be truthful. Don't make things up, or dress them up to be scarier. Our memories are one of our most valuable resources, if we treat them with respect. (That includes the negative aspects of the experience - when I described this exercise to a friend she said: "you mean, like the first time I gave a piano recital and almost wet my pants?") The exercise is to get back to the reality we were living at the time - if we can't draw from that, how can we make others believe us when we try to write something like it? It's not necessary to write about the most frightening experience in your life. Make it something you can now look back on comfortably and write about honestly
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(300 words)
The door seems Alice in Wonderland big, and it won't open. Mom pounds on it, shouting Dad's name. The pounding echoes in my chest. My heart beats to it, then goes faster. Tears well up in my eyes but I can't even blink, so they shiver in my lashes. My little brother stayed in the car with Aunt, but I am older so I came with Mom. She stops pounding and rests her head against the chipping paint.
She calls my dad's name once more and this time we hear a thumping behind the door. A ravaged voice rasps to my ears, "Juuussst go awayyyy."
"Mommy!"
"Bill, you're scaring Amy. Open this door." The silence stretches me to breaking, until my head begins to ache. Sweat beads upon my upper lip, I taste its salty tang. That is what my tears will taste like, when they fall.
"Mom what is wrong with him? Is he drinking? Can we go?" I tug at Mom, she brushes me off and pounds the door again. Her face is red, her voice sounds funny and clogged up. The door does not betray its master. I hear a strangled sob seep under the doorjamb and ooze into my skin. I begin shivering. Mom curses the door and throws cans off the shelves in the hallway. There is only silence after she stops. The silence is broken by a high pitched wail. I realize the sound is coming from me. "Is Daddy dead?" I sputter through the stale tears.
"Dead drunk. Don't cry honey, let's go." We are halfway down the stairs when I wrench my arm from her grip. I storm up the stairs back to the door, and give it a good kick. The latch unlocks with a click, and I wet my pants.
Hi carriephonic, welcome to Able2Know!
Interesting piece. I've got to admit, it took me a while to realize you and your mother were indoors (I had the impression you were pounding on the front door, for some reason). This may be a function of the length of the piece, wherein you didn't have the space to get across a detail like that.
I love this line: "The door does not betray its master." I think that's absolutely perfect.
The ending, to me, seemed almost a let-down. I wondered what was going to happen next, and it didn't seem to be resolved. I thought the pant-wetting (however real it is) was sort of tacked-on. How old are you here? It's unclear - you say "Mommy" which indicates extreme youth, but then you ask a very reasonable question about whether Dad is drinking, which indicates more maturity and understanding. This is ambiguous, and perhaps you can make something of it, e. g. that you are grown-up and youthful all at the same time, or that you are very young but this situation is forcing you to be more grown-up than you really are.
An auspicious beginning. Again, I welcome you.
i washed my face in the kitchen sink,knowing that this was the last time.She would leave now,her suitcase waited by the door.i rubbed away the tears with the heels of my hands as she came down the stairs."Are you sure you won't change your mind?",she asked.Words sat silent on my tongue,how could i say what we both already knew.If i said i'd change,if i could,then everything between us would be different.She picked up the suitcase and headed out the door to her car,i followed,wanting to plead for another chance.She stopped,sensing that there was something that had to be said.i stood next to her and whispered,"If i change,then the person inside me changes.i don't know if that person could love you the way i do now,i just can't risk it."She gasped, as if reality had suddenly changed and she was standing on jello."i've never done anything to hurt you,and if you'll stay,then i'll change."Her breath came in sobs as she understood that there was nothing she could do but stay.
Carriephonic, I like this exercise. As you feel, I believe memory helps us keep in touch with ourselves and the reality of our life.
Your experience is startling, but one we have often seen, heard and read about- children trying to cope with parents with problems. I enjoyed your writing of it.
I have a memory that still nags at me sometimes...
Since my experience as a driver was limited, getting behind the wheel was an adventure, already. Having no way to bring the seat forward caused me anxiety, that resembled panic! Still, I felt I could do this.
I pushed my body as far forward as possible and stretched my short legs, until I found I COULD reach the brake pedal ok. After all, I was only going to the quick Mart, for some milk... a few blocks away, and back home.
Everything seemed murky, darkened and ominous, as I inched the car along, with my body in a stretched, uncomfortable position. I longed to be out of it.
Going down the hill to the store, I began to brake.
But the car did not stop.
It just kept inching along, gently rolling. I pushed and pushed- and gasped for breath- somehow blaming myself for even borrowing this car.
Then I started to pray. "God, why wont this car stop? I may not be a good driver, but I am pushing the brake HARD."
That hill seemed forever, and I thought my throat would crack from the lump of fear choking me. The car just kept rolling...
Slowly, and with confused and agitated motions, I sat upright in bed.
Wiping my brow and blowing out relieved breaths, I decided I had had ENOUGH of dreaming, and I ran from that bed.
Carriephonic, Palehorse and Jackie, you all have seemed to capture the sense of urgency and fear that causes our hearts to beat faster and to yearn for a resolution.
I would like to join the exercise, but time is short lately. I've just finished a very short piece and that will be it for a while. I hope more people will try the excercise, it makes for good reading.
Hi Palehorse.
You have a really nice scene here. I believe that this situation could be full of fear, but I am missing your emotions for it. I like the story, but I am not sure why she stayed after already packing and all! Thanks for sharing it.
Hi jackie!
I am glad you like this exercise, it really pulled me out of a slight block I was forming! Sometimes when I write I focus soley on the exteriors and forget the interior lives of my characters.
You have a twist ending, I was thinking you really lost the breaks! That happened to me once in driver's ed., that's another story! I wonder if you use the word "fear" less in the piece if you could open yourself up to describing the effects of fear so the reader can feel it. For example, instead of "That hill seemed forever, and I thought my throat would crack from the lump of fear choking me." you could write about the physical effect of your throaght tightening and a lump forming. Your readers will know what you mean! Thank you for writing back!
Hi jespah!
Thanks for the crit! You are right about the ending, it does seem to lose some steam. As far as the age frame goes, I was aiming to portrey a little girl with some grown-up ideas forced upon her by bad situations. I will reexamine the best way to do that in the word count! Thanks for the warm welcome!
We've got an exercises series, carriephonic - you're (and everyone else is, too!) welcome to join us! :-D
I didn't notice until last night, thank you for pointing it out! I will be participating as much as I can!
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